


Analeptik

by nisakomi



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Orgasm Denial, Suicide mention, Underage Sex, there is no svt only 96line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days you fuck up. Some days you fuck up a lot and it keeps you up at night. Some days you fuck up a little and fix the problem before anyone even knows something went wrong. Some days you fuck up, and then you fuck up again the next day, and the day after that, and you continue fucking up until there’s nothing left to fuck up because it’s all already fucked up. It’s one of those days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Analeptik

**Author's Note:**

> ♫ [gigantik — crash kings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENSJqB2l8bg) ♫
> 
>  **!!CONTENT WARNINGS!!**  
>  —underage sex – a lot of it; current characters are of age (19+) in present day, but there are frequent and explicit references to past sexual experiences when they were very much underage  
> —suicide mention – no depression, no self-harm, no character death; however, one character has a very flippant attitude toward their own life/death and contemplates suicide in a rather passive manner  
> —homophobia – one character has certain preconceptions about sexuality and gender roles, for that character it plays out as a heck of a lot of internalized heteronormativity and internalized homophobia; mostly loose implications/references on the part of outsiders  
> all that said, if you approach this with the hope that it is a heavy fic, i think you’d be disappointed
> 
> ♯ misc. ♯  
> —this fic is dedicated to serena, who asked me for jihoon/seungkwan, which i will write for her, but she also said she likes jihoon/mingyu and it’s taken me so long to write her the fic that _i offered to write_ it seems only fair that she gets a shout out here too  
>  —i had four exams in the last week and am now more behind on the 30ficsofjunhui thing than i can even think about but i’m counting this as 6 because junhui shows up at least twice. also i haven’t slept in two months so obviously i punched out the entirety of this in one day, as always no edits, not even spag; therefore, serena, again as always, please let me know where my typos are, or if i fuck up tenses i hate tenses, ahahaha i’m sorry that my gifts mean more work for you  
> —i love girls!! so i always have original female characters, it seems. today ailee makes an appearance!!  
> —a thank you to everyone who held my hand while i tried and failed to finish this before the showcase: errie, nizhni, imee, serena, the zucchini i have a crush on lbr i’m never not desperately holding her hand…anyway please no one let me write again during playoff hockey it's too distracting 
> 
>  
> 
> ♯  
> ♯

The computer game is called ‘Snowball’. Jihoon remembers playing it a long time ago, probably before he had even auditioned for Pledis. In other words, something that comes from a lifetime or a timeline he doesn’t belong to anymore. 

He remembers it, nonetheless, a game where you took on the identity of a snowball rather than a goblin or a human. Start small, a little precarious. In the opening moments, you're fragile enough that crashing into a small puppy will leave you in pieces. 

Of course it’s a small puppy, that’s where everything starts, both in the game and in reality. 

But then you grow, rolling over hysterically skiing stick people, snowmen, bigfoot. The worry stops being that crashing into a tree will mean the snowball disintegrates entirely and causing you to lose the game, becomes more a concern that you'll have to rebuild all the snow you lost. Success is measured in weight, and as the ticker beside the letters ‘lbs.’ grows, so does the player's sense of anxiety. With the increase in points comes an increase in speed, and the better you do, the more it feels like there’s something at stake. 

Sooner or later the mass becomes uncontrollable, too big for two arrow keys to navigate, regional, national, world records be damned. 

The snowball effect. Jihoon knows that that is, he's learned about it in school, and he's seen it in a video game. One tiny action of his, leading into something, that leads into something else, and now he doesn't know how to reign things in without causing some sort of avalanche that takes down people who shouldn't be involved. People he cares about, in the loosest sense of the word. The earth, however, has a mass many more times greater than Jihoon's, and he's helpless in the face of gravity. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try to stop things. He’s desperate to know how to step on the brakes, so he asks Seungcheol when they’re alone in the upstairs room of the company building. 

“Do you know what it’s like to not fuck things up?” Jihoon’s angry at himself, at the world, at fate, at whatever. He’s just angry. It comes across in his tone, biting and acerbic. If it leaves a sour taste in his mouth, it’s surely going to sting Seungcheol too. 

He doesn’t mean it to come out like that. Jihoon mostly _likes_ Seungcheol. 

Seungcheol looks at him and sees a human, not a super human, not a small human, not even a scary human. Just a regular human. Really, he sees everyone that way, and it’s part of what makes him a good choice as the member to lead the group. 

For a moment, a familiar flicker of anger is sparked again, spreading across Seungcheol’s face and darkening his eyes. The flame goes out as quickly as it lights up, and Jihoon can’t blame Seungcheol for falling victim to that bullshit that gets spewed about the importance of Jihoon’s hands, the importance of Jihoon’s musical output. Obviously he can’t blame Seungcheol, not when Jihoon’s been brainwashed by that propaganda himself. 

_Why_ , Jihoon wants to ask. _Just fight me. Like we’ve always done. Get in a few really good punches while we’re both here. Let me land a few kicks. It’s what we did before. What changed? Why are things so different?_

It shouldn’t surprise him. Not when they’ve gone through After School Boys and then Tempest and then Not-Tempest and being split up before being reunited together in Seventeen. He’s seen what Seungcheol’s been through, been through enough of it himself. 

Still, Jihoon wants to pound his fists into Seungcheol’s chest, grind his knuckles into his once upon a time best friend’s face and ask him when Jihoon’s mental well-being became less important than the survival and success of their stupid idol group. 

He thinks he's going crazy. Scratch that. It's not a theory, it's a fact. He knows this because he hasn’t always felt this reckless, nor this out of control. 

It’s a new development, different from that extended period of time as a teenager when he was bitter about everything and cross with everyone, never seeing the light of day except to scurry between dorm room, practice room, classroom. His reputation preceding him, the others gave him a wide berth in all of those places, until almost no one knew who Jihoon was, but everyone was scared of him anyway. It’s not that the others act like him being in the producer's seat is a big deal. They don’t. They’re good at being careful with their words and their actions, at making sure Jihoon doesn’t feel disparaged or even off-handedly excluded for any reason. But those are actions, not perceptions. It’s not the same as the representations they have of him in their brain. They think of him as frightening, they look at him and all they see is a persona. There’s only a handful of them for whom that’s not what they see. 

Of them, Jihoon was always pretty certain Seungcheol saw something different, or rather, he took the time to look. Once, long ago, even if he's looking away now. He looked, no matter how briefly, and saw that Jihoon isn't a few buzzwords. That Jihoon's just a kid who accidentally found out he was good at something useful, but who really just wanted to eat junk food and sleep and play sports. 

“Sorry,” Seungcheol says, like he actually has something to apologize for. “Hyung was wrong. Tell me how to fix it.” 

“You can’t,” Jihoon says, and what he means is, _you can’t apologize for something when you haven’t done anything wrong_. 

“Well at least give me a shot, Jihoon! I want to at least try to do something.” Seungcheol sits up, rubs as much sleep out of his eyes as possible, and clutches the pillow in his arms tight to his chest. It makes the veins in his forearms pop out, the muscles below his elbows bulging and almost as tight as the expression on Seungcheol’s face. What Seungcheol hears isn’t what Jihoon’s saying, and they never used to have this problem. These days, neither of them can get in a word edgewise without the other reading everything wrong, and no matter how hard Jihoon tries, he can’t for the life of him remember the turning point. Was it a slow change? Why had they changed at all?

“That’s not it.” The plastic cup in Jihoon’s hand fractures, crushed by his grip. It’s devoid of water. Break time is over. He inhales. “That’s not it, Choi Seungcheol!” 

“Alright, fine! Have it your way! That’s not it! Nothing’s it, is it?” 

“That’s right!” Jihoon yells, nostrils flared. He flings the broken cup in the direction of the garbage can, missing by several yards, and Seungcheol rises out of his seat. 

“Well I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I’ve apologized before, and I’m apologizing now, I’m sorry for not being the leader you want me to be! But if you want me to change, you have to tell me how!” 

The door to the stairs opens, and Seungkwan pops his head in. “Hey, what’s going on? I heard shouting.”

“Nothing,” Jihoon says firmly. The feet of his chair scrape unpleasantly against the floor as he pushes it back to get up. It’s just that, Seungcheol’s always been the leader Jihoon wanted him to be. Scolding him when he wasn’t sleeping at night and not waking up in the morning, and forcing Doyoon to coax him up for school. His hard ass way of taking care of everyone. 

Jihoon doesn’t want Seungcheol to change, Seungcheol’s already changed, and he doesn’t know how to put things back the way they used to be. 

Maybe it’s too late for that. Jihoon brushes past Seungkwan’s shoulder to storm back into the recording studio where he can lock himself in and be isolated for days on end, giving a kick to the cup on the floor on the way. He can almost _hear_ Seungcheol’s frown behind him, and he squares his shoulders. He doesn’t want to hear it, nor does he want to see it. He wants to face the full brunt of it.

♯

♯

The sound of the opening and closing click of the door doesn't register, nor do the footsteps approaching the kitchen. Jihoon doesn't process the presence of another person until one of the lights is switched on and he has to squint to adjust his eyes to the brightness.

“Hey. I saved you stew from dinner.” Mingyu's trench coat is unbuttoned, and he has his one hand shoved into a pocket. “It's in the fridge, did you see it?”

Truthfully, Jihoon hadn't even bothered to check. He turns away from the laptop screen, eyes dry and unblinking. It’s going on fifty-two hours of being awake, after the misunderstanding with Seungcheol had left him with an unpleasant taste in his mouth that lingered over the entirety of Saturday night, and carried into Sunday morning. By Sunday afternoon, he realized he hadn't achieved his composition goals for the week, and stayed up until nine o'clock the next day finishing the lyrics for two songs he wanted to finish ages ago. As soon as he had returned to the dorms, washed his face and brushed his teeth, the others were waking up for dance rehearsals. 

Since then, it’s been over two days’ worth of cycling between holed up in front of a keyboard or computer versus holed up in a rehearsal studio the approximate temperature of a kiln sauna. 

Over two days without rest, and Jihoon is past the point of exhaustion. “I'm not hungry,” he says. It's true, the sleep deprivation has sapped him of an appetite. He returns to his work where the tiny characters swim in his vision, spelling out the words 'fuck up' while a migraine pounds between his eyes.  

Mingyu cocks his head to the side. “I thought you'd say something like that.” 

The smell of jjajang sauce assaults Jihoon's olfactory system without warning, rich, savoury, and immediately rousing an appetite in him. It's not just been sleep deprivation, he knows his body needs to eat for fuel but he hasn't had the energy to spare on scrounging for food. Jihoon turns, sets aside his laptop, and stands on auto-pilot, reaching toward the scent with both hands. 

Mingyu pulls the take-out noodles out from the plastic bag he opened behind his back and relinquishes it to Jihoon’s impatient grasp. “Didn't you say you weren't hungry?” Mingyu cedes control of the package easily anyway, quirking up the corner of his lips at Jihoon wresting it away from his grasp with exaggerated force. He accepts the glower and mumbled cursing with a tug to the other side of his mouth, smiling openly while shrugging off his jacket, which he carefully drapes across the back of a chair before taking a seat himself. 

Jihoon stabs into and rips apart the plastic wrap with the gusto of a starving man, even though the taste is almost too pungent for his palate and the greasy residue coating the noodles weighs heavily inside his stomach. Chewing is too much right now, so he slurps and swallows whole, with minimal effort on the part of his jaws. The sensation of food filling his stomach is welcome, but he's nauseous halfway through the bowl, a consequence of having not eaten in so long. When he puts down the chopsticks, Mingyu appears in front of him again with the sleeves of his black turtleneck rolled up, licking the pad of his thumb before rubbing off the sauce smeared around Jihoon's lips. Jihoon jerks his head to the side, away from Mingyu's fingers, and roughly rubs his mouth against the back of one hand. 

“Don't do that.” There’s fucking up and then there’s fuck ups. Jihoon is a fuck up dragging Mingyu into his mess, but there’s a line he can draw and on the other side of it is Mingyu who Jihoon has never intended to turn into a fuck up too. 

Unperturbed, Mingyu conjures up napkins to clean his thumb, and hands the tissue to Jihoon so he can wipe his hand off as well. “I'm going to finish this, is that okay?” He gets an eyeroll in lieu of an answer, but he's content to sit back down and shovel the remainder into his mouth, even though the sauce is unevenly distributed and he ends up with mostly plain noodles. After his first bite he pauses to offer a piece of bright yellow danmuji to Jihoon, who purses his lips. Mingyu persists, gently tapping the radish against Jihoon's mouth while his other hand hovers below, ready to catch any stray drops of vinegar lest it get into Jihoon's clothes. Jihoon relents, after a while, and Mingyu alternates between eating noodles without sauce and feeding Jihoon slices of daikon. 

“Are you done now?” Jihoon’s fingernails are trimmed short and don’t clack against the keys, but there’s a dull clicking from the depression of each button he hits and the sound becomes more agitated the longer Mingyu is present.

“Yeah.” Mingyu wipes his mouth like a normal person, using tissues. He misses a spot on his chin. “But I wanted to say something first.” 

“Well say it then,” Jihoon mutters, and then mouths the words he types to himself silently. 

Mingyu doesn’t accept the half-hearted attention, reaches around to hit ‘cmd’ and the ‘s’ key before pushing the top of Jihoon’s laptop down to a close. 

Jihoon sighs and slides it away from him across the table. “Alright, I’m listening. What do you want.” 

“Seungkwan told me that he thought you and Seungcheol-hyung got into a fight on Saturday, which was right before you started pulling this fifty-two hours without sleep stunt.” 

It pisses Jihoon off that he has the number down to the right hour. It really pisses him off. “Well Seungkwan’s wrong, which is not that unusual, and it’s not a stunt.” 

“I think you should apologize to Seungcheol-hyung before it festers any longer.” Mingyu looks directly at Jihoon, who looks away with a scowl. Mingyu stares harder until Jihoon meets his eyes again and then holds his gaze. 

Before Jihoon met Mingyu, he’d assumed everyone’s brown eyes were the same shade. Now he could identify Mingyu in a line up of thousands of people simply by the precise chestnut brown colour of his eyes, not by choice, but because Mingyu always looked at him with his eyes wide open, earnest or eager or both. Today they’re warm but it’d be easier if they were cold, because then Jihoon could justify being pissed off that Mingyu doesn’t call him out on his blatant lies and goes straight for Jihoon’s jugular.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Mingyu closes his mouth and draws his lips into a tight ring like someone’s tugging on the loops of a drawstring pouch. “The guilt is going to give you even more sleepless nights, hyung.” 

“So what?” It’s not a fact he likes to remember, but Mingyu reminds Jihoon every day that even if everyone else in the world is turned away, that there’s always at least one person looking at him. That Kim Mingyu sees Lee Jihoon.

“I guess I was expecting that too,” Mingyu says. Also, that Mingyu _knows_ Jihoon. 

He nods and makes to stand, but Jihoon yanks him down by the front of his shirt until their noses are mere centimeters apart. “Don’t.” Ugh. He shouldn’t have done that. Jihoon’s eyes are narrowed when he tilts his chin up to dart his tongue against the jjajang sauce dried beneath Mingyu’s lips. It’s gross but he wipes it off with a slow lick and Mingyu looks less like an idiot. It makes him slightly more kissable, although Mingyu always looks at least a little kissable chapped lips or no, and Jihoon angles their mouths together, dragging his lips across Mingyu’s with force but not much finesse. 

“Aren’t you worried someone might see us, hyung?” Mingyu asks in a very small voice, eyes dropped to focus on Jihoon’s mouth while he licks his own lips. His eyelashes flutter with the rapid blinking, and all Jihoon can think about his how the aftertaste of onions from the jjajangmyeon is awful. 

“Best be quick then.” Jihoon places both hands on Mingyu’s shoulders and shoves him down until his head is between Jihoon’s thighs, his knees hitting the ground with a painful sounding thud that Jihoon tries not to care about. 

Mingyu makes quick work of Jihoon’s fly, unzipping and unbuttoning his jeans so quickly that Jihoon doesn’t have time to snark before Mingyu starts palming Jihoon’s cock over the fabric of his boxers, and he’s got his other hand cupped around Jihoon’s balls just the way he likes it. The fact that anyone could walk in on them like this only makes Jihoon harder faster.

By the time Mingyu’s mouth is around him, Jihoon’s got his fingers threaded through Mingyu’s hair, clutching tightly enough that he’ll feel it but without pulling too hard. Mingyu moans around a mouthful of cock, and in the time when his muscles are relaxed, Jihoon thrusts his hips upward, throatfucking him until Mingyu requests a break not with his words but with his hands, which wrap around the base of Jihoon’s dick as Mingyu extricates his mouth. He’s not gone for long, and per Jihoon’s instructions, he doesn’t draw it out, running his fingers along the underside and then the tip, sucking and licking until his jaw aches, as it should. Mingyu’s good at this now, Jihoon realizes suddenly, he’s _fucking good at sucking cock_ , and Jihoon doesn’t quite remember how it happened. But his cheeks are hollowed prettily, and Jihoon comes coating the back of Mingyu’s throat, silent as he bites down on his lower lip, hands squeezing and toes curling. 

“Not bad, brat,” Jihoon pants out, and pats Mingyu’s head. It’s better than acknowledging that he’s actually kind of amazing at it. “Good stress relief. I think I can probably fall asleep now.” 

He stands and pads around Mingyu to turn the light back off and head into the rooms to find an empty bed, leaving Mingyu kneeling in the dark kitchen, more than half hard and sporting a bittersweet smile.

♯

♯

“Hyung, Minji-noona confessed to me today,” Mingyu had said, bright-eyed and wondrous as he sat on the ground with his knees pulled up, “she made me follow her behind the school alone and told me she liked me.”

“Okay,” Jihoon had replied, not entirely sure why he was being told this fact instead of Seungkwan, who actually knew whoever ‘Minji-noona’ was. 

“What should I say to her?” 

The thought came to Jihoon as he picked up his guitar that as one of the older trainees, it was inevitable that they’d be sought out for life advice. That didn’t make it any more enjoyable. “Err, what _did_ you say to her?”

“I told her I needed to think about it.” He had been waiting for Jihoon to finish changing at the dorms and had trailed behind him while Jihoon built himself a comfy space in the green-walled practice room around a plastic chair. It occurred to Jihoon that he could at least try.

“Well, have you thought about it? Do you like her?”

Mingyu seemed to pause for a moment and give this thought he hadn’t previously considered. “She’s very straightforward. She told me if I agreed to be her boyfriend, she’d blow me. Hey hyung, what does that mean, is it a sex thing?”

The A string on Jihoon’s guitar had snapped just then, when his fingers tugged too hard on the tuning key. The fibers that had whipped into bare skin left a red mark that started to swell even as Jihoon stared down at his hands, too shocked to swear. 

“Hyung, are you okay?” Mingyu had reached out to grab hold of the still vibrating ends with one hand, the other coming to rest on top of Jihoon’s own. 

“It’s fine,” Jihoon had said quickly, pulling his hand away and shaking it to distract from the stinging. It was going to suck having to pay for a new string out of pocket money that could have been used on snacks, but he would live. “Anyway, about your girlfriend, does she know you’re a Pledis trainee?” 

“I’ve never told her, but people at school know, so probably? You didn’t answer my question!” 

Jihoon has played an altered version of this memory in his head enough times that he doesn’t remember the anger coiling in his stomach, nor the green monster roaring in his chest. Doesn’t remember, or doesn’t acknowledge it, but it’s the same thing, he’s good at pretending he doesn’t know why what happened after happened at all. 

“Yeah, it’s a sex thing,” Jihoon had whispered, fighting down a blush even though no one else was around. It felt taboo to be telling Mingyu things like that, had made his skin crawl. He cleared his throat and yanked out the broken string from his guitar, which was as good as useless until he could get it replaced.

“I’m nervous!” Mingyu declared, blinking quickly and biting his lip. 

“Then don’t do it,” Jihoon had muttered, wishing the conversation would end faster. 

“What if I get pre-ma-ture eja-cu-la-tion?” He had pronounced the words carefully, in their formal form, like he’d read it off the internet and never heard it used before. 

It was too much, and Jihoon had bit out, “Then just practice!” too sharply. Had given away the fact that he felt flustered, and Mingyu, smiling shyly, looked like he knew he had won. Maybe he had. Because Jihoon had spent time on his knees in the bathroom that night, sucking Mingyu’s dick with all the competency of a kid who had never done much more than experiment once or twice. When Mingyu came, with a breathy choked out cry of, “Jihoon-hyung,” Jihoon had curled four of his fingers around Mingyu’s wrist and dug his nails into the flesh. He had known then that whether ‘Minji-noona’ was trying to date Mingyu for fame or because she genuinely liked him didn’t matter, because Jihoon fucking hated her. 

((“Hyung, do you think you can teach me to do _that thing_?” Mingyu had asked, three days later, sitting on the ground again, with his legs swung to one side. He had tucked himself close to Jihoon, who had been trying to work on a harmony that he kept turning into a perfect fifth instead of a dominant seventh. 

“What thing?” Jihoon had asked, distracted. They hadn’t spoken about the thing since it happened, and it was better that way, but Mingyu had looked pointedly at Jihoon’s crotch and the flush on Jihoon’s cheeks returned without delay. “What about ‘Minji-noona’?” 

Mingyu shook his head, lips upturned before speaking. “I didn’t _really_ like her, and besides, she wasn’t as good at it as hyung was.”

Jihoon hadn’t known what to be angrier at, the fact that Mingyu had gotten off with someone twice in a week, or that fucking ‘Minji-noona’ had put her mouth where it hadn’t belonged. “Obviously,” Jihoon had said, rolling his eyes, even though he hadn’t any of the confidence behind his words. How did that phrase go, fake it until you make it?

“So I want you to teach me! Please?” It was Mingyu’s eagerness that had killed Jihoon’s resolve, and he told himself it would be best if Mingyu wasn’t off getting random chicks pregnant. Jihoon could make personal sacrifices like having to deal with Kim Mingyu’s ugly ass face and lack of knowledge for the good of Seventeen. Or so he told himself every time he found himself with his cock in Mingyu’s mouth until it had been months later and his cock wasn’t in Mingyu’s mouth anymore, it was in Mingyu’s ass, and Jihoon was only so good of a liar.))

♯

♯

“I’m sorry.” It comes out scratchily, he’s still angry at himself, but he doesn’t think he’s ever spoken the words before so the attempt has to count for something. “I didn’t mean it.” I didn’t mean for you to get upset when I was really trying to take things out on myself, and it’s just a misunderstanding, one that wouldn’t have happened if we were the way we used to be, but a relationship goes two ways so it’s probably at least partially my fault anyway.

Seungcheol looks at him like he’s a stranger, and isn’t that what they are now, two people who don’t know each other but who have to work and live in close proximity. “I’m sorry too, for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that,” Seungcheol says, and he says it easily, genuinely, so much so that it makes Jihoon a little envious. 

There’s a moment when Jihoon gets pulled into Seungcheol’s embrace when he wants to push him away – don’t make it weird – but it’s brief, and mostly what Jihoon feels is just surprise. When they part there’s a small smile on Jihoon’s face and he honestly doesn’t know how it gets there. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” The nonchalance reminds him of when things didn’t have to have so much meaning, when they weren’t scrutinizing each other’s every word, and the near-familiarity of it is what compels him to agree. 

“Yeah, alright,” Jihoon says. He laces up a pair of high-tops that probably don’t belong to him and starts off in a north easterly direction before Seungcheol’s even registered his assent. 

They walk silently with their faces covered, wearing oversized hoodies and something that feels like camaraderie. Jihoon isn’t sure that it is, it’s not like in the past. Sure the silence is comfortable, but it’s not comforting, and the very slight difference builds anxiety in him as they walk. He thinks it’s because they’re not as playful anymore, because they’re cautious of hurting each other, so they don’t fight. But that’s a circular argument because they weren’t cautious of each other before, always knowing that the other understood, because they knew everything about each other. 

There was a time when Seungcheol knew all of Jihoon’s secrets, and Jihoon was reasonably sure that he knew all of Seungcheol’s. 

That was a time before Jihoon’s biggest secret had become the fact that he was fucking a bandmate. 

Seungcheol pays for soondae and Jihoon pays for drinks and they sit at a table near the water, eating and drinking while not looking at each other or anyone else, just staring out. Seungcheol is clever, he waits until Jihoon has a mouthful of food that needs to be chewed before speaking, uses it as a tactic to make Jihoon listen to everything he has to say instead of part of it. 

“You need to tell me in explicit terms what and how I can change to be better, because I can’t read your mind any—”

He doesn’t finish the word ‘anymore’, but says enough of it that Jihoon can at least be relieved they both feel like something’s off. That they were once able to know exactly what was in the other’s heart even if they don’t know that now. 

“You’re fine,” Jihoon says tersely after he finishes swallowing, “I’m just wound tight because of everything.” 

“I know, I get it.” Maybe Seungcheol does. “But you weren’t always—” He breaks off again, like he’s scared of speaking about the past. “I don’t want you to be wound tight. I want you to have some of your youth while you’re young. Let hyung handle some of the stuff on your shoulders.” 

Jihoon barks out a laugh and takes a long sip of iced coffee before speaking. “You don’t need to be so worried.” He sneaks a glance at Seungcheol, who has a little crinkle between his eyebrows, whose mouth is drawn flat and curved downward. 

“Believe it or not, telling me not to be worried isn’t going to be less worried. I get more stressed out when I’m _not_ helping you, so don’t think that giving me some of your burden is going to make things worse.” 

“I’m not lying,” Jihoon says. Things are fine. He might be withholding information, but he doesn’t have any issue with Seungcheol, really. No he’s figured it out now, it’s himself who’s at fault. “I’ll keep that in mind though, and tell you if anything comes up, leader- _ssi_.” 

They look at each other and burst out laughing. Seungcheol extends his arm forward, ready to flick Jihoon’s head, or rub his knuckles into the hoodie and mess up Jihoon’s hair, but he stops himself and gently knocks Jihoon’s shoulders instead. “You’re the troublesome kid. When interviews ask me who’s the hardest to look after they want me to say you’re all great at listening to me, or at the most they’ll allow me to say one of the louder ones won’t shut up but that’s a lie. The real answer is the quiet ones who keep all their thoughts to themselves.” 

_You have no idea how much of a problem child I am_ , Jihoon thinks, _but I’ll try not fuck things up worse than they already are_. Neither Seungcheol nor Mingyu deserves Jihoon fucking everything up. “Tell them that. I dare you.”

“You’re a bully, Jihoonie, a real bully,” Seungcheol jokes back. 

Jihoon nods and forces a laugh. “That’s right, you should be scared of me.” Seungcheol shouldn’t be. Of all people, not Seungcheol. Sure Jihoon’s a bully, he’s a fuck up, he’s selfish, and he doesn’t know how to stop, but he’s still Lee Jihoon. All of the work he’s doing making music, that was the price he needed to pay for his sins. Extra hours, no sleep, it feels deserved. It’s better than feeling happiness or success, anyway, because those things make him feel guilty, and like Mingyu had pointed out, guilt makes him restless. He looks out at the waves, seemingly calm on the surface, and wonders what it would be like to swing himself up over the barriers, tie a brick to his shoe, and jump down into the water. Seventeen would be down the group bully, and he wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt anymore. It’d almost be worth it, if there weren’t so much effort involved.

♯

♯

Soonyoung’s like Seungcheol in some regards. He sees Jihoon for Jihoon, and that’s the only explanation for why they’re friends. The other reason is that Soonyoung’s always been Soonyoung, and will always be Soonyoung in the sense that his personality is still the same. He doesn’t treat Jihoon with kid gloves, and he keeps as many of their traditions from predebut as he can, which includes finishing big projects with trips to touristy places even though they’ve all technically been Seoul residents for years now.

“You deserve a break. Heck, forget you, _I_ deserve a break. If we were growing plants in the practice rooms, they’d have sprouted from the amount of sweat I’ve watered them with in the past two weeks.”

“That’s fucking gross, Soonyoung.” Jihoon lifts up the coffee pot and pours straight into his mouth until the remainder of the batch is down his throat, pausing only to swallow.

“No, what _you’re_ doing is gross, I’m never going to be able to drink company coffee again.”

“Relax, I’m about to wash this thing.” Jihoon needs to stand and not do much for a while anyway until the caffeine kicks in. He wishes there were a faster way to get that kick, like straight injections into his bloodstream. He’d get an IV drip hooked up with that shit, and never sleep again for the sake of increased productivity. 

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose but ultimately shrugs. “Whatever. I’ll bug Junhui for snacks, or if not we can grab sandwiches at a convenience store first. We can invite Wonwoo-goon, and make fun of him the entire time and he’ll ask us why we’re ganging up on him and then why he came in the first place. It’ll be just like old times.” 

That’s what Jihoon’s been wanting, isn’t it?

“Wait. Where’s Junhui?”

“Sitting in the hair salon chair and getting something outrageous done to his head, probably. Why?” 

Jihoon gives Soonyoung a look. “You said you were getting the snacks from him, didn’t you?” 

Wonwoo lifts up a white plastic bag, bulging from the number of items held inside. “I’ve got ‘em,” he says calmly, before using his other hand to fix his hair. 

The frown is turned on Wonwoo and Jihoon’s eyebrows fold toward the middle of his face. “So you took the kid’s food, but left the kid?” 

“Huh?” Wonwoo looks lost, and he hugs the bag to his chest defensively, unsure of what he’s done to deserve the way Jihoon’s looking at him. 

“Wait, it’s not like Junhui’s come with us before, why would he come with us now?” Soonyoung’s bewilderment makes Jihoon bewildered too. Things are different now, they aren’t just clawing their way to top in the hopes that they’ll make their debut. They’ve actually debuted, as a group, and that means they have to work together as a whole. Any fractioning will leave them weaker, Soonyoung knows that, and Jihoon doesn’t know why he’s the one who has to explain it.

“We can’t just go off as three out of four members of the 96 line with _his_ snacks and not invite him, doesn’t that make us blatant douchebags?” 

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “It’s fine, let’s get going or else we’re not going to make it before the mid-day rush, and I really don’t want to stand around under the sun.” 

“It’s not fine!” 

With a sigh, Wonwoo passes off the stuff to Soonyoung and places both his hands on Jihoon’s shoulders. “Hoon-ah. Trust me. When I say it’s fine, I mean _it’s fine_. Let’s go.” It still doesn’t sit well with Jihoon but he gets shoved onto a bus and it doesn’t really matter after that since he can’t do anything about it.

The entire thing sets the tone for the rest of the day, or maybe it’s that the relationship among the three of them has become strained since debut too. But the jokes and laughter are forced, and Jihoon’s face feels tight from how much he has to force himself to contract the muscles of his cheeks to pull them into a smile. Soonyoung looks worried too, his laughter is natural but there’s a lingering concern in his eyes where their usually crinkliness doesn’t sparkle. Wonwoo’s the only one of them that remains amused and composed, but the entire thing niggles at Jihoon even after they return to the dorms, at which point he realizes they never even took pictures. 

So much for just like old times. 

For one thing, Jihoon’s never worried about leaving someone out before. It’s like Soonyoung and Seungcheol are rubbing off on him or something. For another, the more he pretends things are okay, and the more he clings to his life before all of these changes had ruined it, the more miserable he feels.

♯

♯

The very first 96 line day trip, as planned by Soonyoung as always, Jihoon had smiled relentlessly for hours. It had been years ago, but they’d been together for a while already, grouped altogether as trainees and appearing in NU’EST’s debut MV with the hopeful eagerness of individuals who hadn’t had to tell their friends ‘no, the latest debut rumour probably isn’t true, we’re not debuting yet’.

Jihoon had returned to the dorms that day with the feeling that it didn’t matter if they never debuted, because at his side are people who make him amused enough that he can temporarily forget the lows, at least for a day at a time. 

He ran into Mingyu while washing up, still in an unbelievably good mood and humming as he dried his hair. Mingyu had stopped him by blocking his path in the hallway and crossing his arms. Instead of angry, the pout on Mingyu’s face made him look pitiful. 

“Did you and Wonwoo-hyung and Soonyoung-hyung go out together?” Mingyu had asked, as if they hadn’t left behind all of the others as well. Sometimes having a large group of people was a hassle, and sometimes the older ones needed not to look out for the babies of the group. Mostly, it would have been weird getting on public transportation together. 

“Why are you so upset?” Jihoon had quipped, “Aww, wait, Mingoo-ya, are you jealous we went on a date with Wonwoo and you weren’t there?” 

In retrospect, it should have been a sign that Jihoon had developed a nickname for Mingyu on his own.

Mingyu had pushed away the elbow that Jihoon had stuck out to get around him and stopped Jihoon in his tracks for a second time. “Don’t be so mean, or divert the conversation, hyung!” 

“I’m always mean,” Jihoon had protested.

“No, you’re just mean when you don’t want people to get to your soft centre,” Mingyu had stated like it was a hard fact. “If I wanted to talk to Wonwoo-hyung, I would have just found him instead.” 

“I’m not soft.”

Mingyu had ignored him. “I looked for you everywhere, you know, I wanted to spend time with you.” 

Jihoon had said he wasn’t soft, but fuck if that hadn’t softened him into the approximate firmness of a marshmallow. “Even though I can be mean?” He had teased, but his voice had changed already and Mingyu uncrossed his arms. 

“I kinda like that there’s a bite first before you get to the chewy bit,” Mingyu had said, and then thrown his head back and laughed, leaving Jihoon to stare up at his Adam’s apple, and all of that smooth skin over a long neck. 

In order to cover up his thick swallowing, Jihoon had tugged Mingyu down into a headlock and growled, “You’re way too tall, kid. We can spend time together only if you promise to be shorter.”

“I promise to try to shrink, even if that’s biologically unfeasible,” Mingyu swore, burying his laughter into Jihoon’s neck and wrapping his arms around Jihoon’s waist instead of trying to pull away.

“You’re such a weird kid.” 

“I’m not a kid!”

“You call me hyung, don’t you?” Jihoon had released Mingyu from his clutches, but Mingyu remained with his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder, arms still loosely held around Jihoon in a hug that Jihoon was allowing against his better judgement. It was…kind of nice, but Jihoon wouldn’t admit that to the rest of the group. Mingyu knew better than to tell others about this anyway. 

Mingyu lifted his head to glare at Jihoon, their faces close enough together that Jihoon could only cross his eyes and stare at Mingyu’s nose lest he do something stupid and fuck up irreversibly. “I’m less than a year younger than you! If you’re not a kid, I’m not a kid either!” Mingyu had huffed, breath hot against Jihoon’s face and Jihoon had tried his best to keep his squirming internalized. 

“It’s not the number nor someone’s height that makes a person a certain age,” Jihoon had mumbled, hyperaware of wherever Mingyu was touching him, self-conscious of the fact that he liked Mingyu’s weight leaning against him. That he liked feeling needed. “You’ll always be a kid to me, kid.” 

There had been more pouting, but Mingyu hadn’t said anything back, only squeezed Jihoon tighter. 

Remembering it like that, things were easier before they started fucking. 

It’s easier to just call the fucking the first instance of the fuck ups, because that’s the earliest memory Jihoon has that hasn’t been tampered with by his own force of will. It’s a clear demarcation, before fucking, a happier Jihoon, after fucking, a regretful fuck up Jihoon. 

The snowball didn’t start off with a blowjob, though, it didn’t start with Jihoon’s jealousy, but it also didn’t start with Jihoon giving Mingyu a nickname. What got the ball rolling was an amalgamation of things, just like a snowball was a tight pack of snowflakes pressed together. For Jihoon it was the way Mingyu latched onto him, despite the fact that Jihoon was neither the best trainee nor the oldest, and always sought out his approval. All too soon, Jihoon had started needing the feeling of being needed. That feeling was nice, but so was Mingyu’s smile, and the earnestness in his eyes, and the fact that those eyes were always turned toward Jihoon. 

The upside is that he can write cheesy lines into their songs. The downside is that – let’s not beat around the bush – he’s a fucking fuck up.

♯

♯

He’s not unhappy. Jihoon isn’t an unhappy person. He’s a grouchy person, particularly grumpy in the morning, and he gets annoyed easily by certain things, but he thinks, for the most part, his life is all around something that should make him content.

Take now, for instance, as he sits on a chair while watching Seungkwan and Seokmin goof off on the floor, being boisterous and _stupid_ together. Well, Seokmin’s got a monopoly on the stupidity, but Seungkwan’s so flabbergasted he can’t help but laugh and it’s contagious. See, Jihoon’s not unhappy, he doesn’t need to take every moment seriously, he doesn’t need to be upset or cranky or cynical. He can look at other people and be amused by them or be amused by their amusement, it’s the same in the end, he’s a happy person.

“When you’re in front of Hyemi-noona you can’t do gags like that,” Seungkwan admonishes, “she’ll never like you if you do!” 

“She already likes me,” Seokmin says, wagging his eyebrows. “What do you know about dating, anyway?” 

Seungkwan pretends to fluff his hair and looks skyward as he does so. “I know everything about girls, okay, I’m the best source of advice on girls.”

“Whatever, she wanted my number not yours,” Seokmin says, making finger guns and smiling widely. 

“Your loss,” Seungkwan says flippantly, pretending to check the cleanliness of his nails. His faux nonchalance makes Seokmin snort. “Just don’t get caught,” Seungkwan adds scathingly, mildly offended that he’s the one being laughed at when Seokmin was the one making weird faces.

Jihoon stops laughing. He’s a happy person, but he’s also a person carrying a shitton of baggage, and an even heavier load of outright fear. 

Seungkwan can joke about Seokmin and Ahn Hyemi not getting caught, but the truth is, Lee Seokmin won’t go out with her anyway, not because he’s not allowed to, more because he’s too busy to. Their company policy is don’t get caught, but Jihoon thinks it’s probably not terrible if one of them got caught with a girl. Getting caught with a boy, now that was a different story entirely. 

He pushes Mingyu up against the wall of the dorm bathroom later, locking the door and triple checking first, makes Mingyu spread his legs so their heights are more even, kisses Mingyu with heady desperation and more teeth than usual. He keeps one hand against Mingyu’s throat where he can feel his pulse, which thrums beneath his fingers with increasing velocity. Jihoon would like little more than to bite down at that point and lick across the soft skin there, the only patch that’s really saved from Mingyu’s inability to moisturize. He won't because he can't leave marks. All of that matters very little, all things considered, because no matter how chapped Mingyu’s lips are, no matter how dry and cracked, Jihoon would kiss him regardless. Jihoon doesn’t need Mingyu to be soft, he doesn’t even need Mingyu to be good, he just needs Mingyu to be Mingyu and to need _him_.

It’s starting to wear off. It should have worn off years ago, the novelty of regularly getting laid, but Mingyu had stuck with him for so long that Jihoon’s almost convinced that they can keep it going. 

Jihoon has always liked boys. That’s not why he’s a fuck up. Jihoon has always liked Mingyu too much. This is closer to the reason. 

He sighs against Mingyu’s mouth and pats his ass a little.

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu asks, nudging Jihoon’s cheek with his nose, grinding up against Jihoon in a way that strangely doesn’t ask for sex, but instead, intimacy. 

“Don’t,” Jihoon says, it’s his favourite thing to say to Mingyu, or not, Jihoon would prefer being able to tell him more positive words, but it’s the thing he says most often, at least these days. “It’s just sex. Don’t forget that.” 

Mingyu turns his head away, busies himself with undoing the top button of his jeans, shoves them down to his knees and helps Jihoon with his own zipper. “I got it hyung, you made that clear from day one. I’m not stupid, I can remember two rules.” 

The two rules are these: 1. Jihoon is in charge. 2. No feelings. The first rule is for Mingyu to follow. The second rule is not really for Mingyu. By the time Mingyu finds the one and settles down with her, he’ll know a little too much about gay sex, and Jihoon is entirely to blame. But, he’ll also be a fantastic kisser, if the way his tongue is curling into Jihoon’s mouth right now is anything to go by, as long as someone buys him a freaking tube of lip balm. Mingyu sucks Jihoon’s lower lip into his mouth and Jihoon temporarily forgets the second rule, which is really for himself. 

It’s a rule he’s been breaking this entire time. 

No feelings is an appropriate rule for two guys in a gay relationship in an idol group, it means if anything happens, the aftermath won’t cause dissonance in the group. In reality, it’s an attempt by Jihoon to cut off the emotional disaster he’s bound to experience before it happens. It really isn’t going to work. Jihoon’s renewed attempt at staving off that moment in time when Mingyu realizes he’s grown the fuck up into a goddamn _man_ and no longer finding Jihoon useful is so close Jihoon can hear the ticking clock. He’s not sure what he’s going to do when that day finally arrives. Now that he knows what it’s like to be needed, he’s not sure he’s going to be able to function without it. 

The rules Jihoon had established for Mingyu are different from the rules Jihoon had established for himself. Or really, just one rule. Don’t get caught. Don’t get caught by your bandmates, don’t get caught by the press, don’t get caught by the company, don’t get caught by anyone. This rule for himself, is really a rule for Mingyu. Jihoon has always liked boys, and he’s mentally been preparing himself for the day his parents find out he’s a cocksucker since the first time someone had frowned at someone being _that way_ and he’s been in hiding ever since. But Mingyu, Mingyu’s saving himself for that pretty noona he’ll one day get married to, and he doesn’t deserve to have his reputation tarnished by Jihoon emotionally manipulating him into whatever it is they’re doing. 

It’s about time that Jihoon started manipulating Mingyu the other way. He gets them off quickly with his hands, shutting up Mingyu’s loud ass whining and whimpering by covering Mingyu’s mouth with his own, swallowing up the low pitchy sounds and twisting his fingers around all of Mingyu’s sensitive spots. He gets them off quickly, but really, that’s the only way they come, hurried and like they’re not supposed to be doing this. Which they aren’t. 

Mingyu leans back against the wall with his eyes closed while Jihoon cleans them both up, the lazy ass fucker. “I’m really glad you’re the one teaching me, hyung,” he says quietly, casually. There’s something in his voice that makes him sound like he’s searching for a right answer. 

“No,” Jihoon says shortly, tucking himself back into his boxers, zipping up his jeans to punctuate his point. He’s not going to give Mingyu an inch. 

Mingyu’s face crumples but he evens out his expression, eyes closed, and keeps his sigh inaudible. “Well, when I finally date the noona of my dreams, they won’t know what hit them.” 

It’s not his place, but Jihoon gets irrationally angry at how easily it is to push Mingyu away. He’s never felt this off kilter after an orgasm before, and normally his stress goes down, not up. It’s what he wants, to have Mingyu leave the fucking up to Jihoon, to stop associating himself with the shit Jihoon has going on, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

♯

♯

Actually, Soonyoung is the one to notice it first. It’s because Jihoon is normally very good at picking up where Soonyoung leaves off, they’ve been trained to be good at speaking in front of the camera after all, but Jihoon doesn’t bite on this one. Soonyoung only hangs for a moment before laughing and then continuing on like nothing wrong had happened, and Jihoon maintains his expression. It’s a half smile, pasted onto his face. Underneath, he’s boiling with anger that’s been cooking inside him for ages, but has really simmered to the top with the latest comments about his height.

Sure some of them are twenty centimetres taller than he is, but that doesn’t mean suggesting the fact that he was using his growth spurt to increase the number of brain cells instead of bone cells mediated the derision in the jokes about him being short. Jihoon had played it off like he always did on camera, but it was too far, and at a time when he was too stressed to not take things personally, but the thing that pisses him off the most is that no one even attempts to defend him afterward, like that one comment about being grateful for his musical output somehow made things okay. 

It was one thing to do it off camera, when Jihoon could defend himself, it was another entirely to do it when any attempt to ward off the others would just make it seem like he couldn’t take a joke. 

He’s doing a good job containing that sentiment, he thinks, considering the fact that with the exception of Soonyoung who looks sobered and keeps trying to wrap his hand around Jihoon’s wrist, no one else looks at him twice. Seungcheol’s doing push-ups for the audience now, which is great, and Jihoon slaps down Mingyu’s hand before he can volunteer Jihoon to do push-ups too.

“Don’t blow a fuse,” Soonyoung mutters when they’re back in the changing rooms, but Jihoon does anyway, as soon as the door is closed. 

He yells himself hoarse until no one can meet his eye, and it doesn’t matter who started it, or who made the jokes, Jihoon can’t remember himself, it’s just that all of them look at him like that, like he’s a small ball of rage instead of a human being, like he’s a music producing machine instead of a real physical person, and he doesn’t want to be someone who instructs them how to sing in the recording studio, he just wants to be their friend. 

He doesn’t know what he says to them, but everyone gives him a wide berth for a week after that, avoids looking at him, avoids talking to him. It makes their group dynamics strained and awkward, but Jihoon gets too tired to care, plagued by insomnia from the guilt again. It’s always guilt, regret, fucking up. He’d be happy, probably, if he were chained to a bed, with his mouth duct taped shut, so he couldn’t wreck more good things. 

“I’ve chased them all out,” Mingyu says, while Jihoon lies in bed waiting for someone to tell him to wake up in the morning. No one even passive aggressively sets an alarm for him, too wary of his anger. “Well,” Mingyu amends, “I told them I was going to handle the situation.”

Jihoon turns to look at Mingyu, sitting at the foot of the bed with his hands folded in his lap, knees and ankles turned inward. His head nearly reaches the top bunk. Jihoon doesn’t say anything.

“I told them that they shouldn’t apologize to you because you’d hate it, actually I didn’t say that you’d hate it, I just told them that they shouldn’t apologize.” 

“You’re very bad at saying what you mean today,” Jihoon says, sitting up. 

Mingyu laughs and pats Jihoon’s foot over the blanket. “I’m always bad at saying what I mean, hyung, you’re the articulate one. That’s why you’re the teacher, isn’t it?” The look on his face is inscrutable. 

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees half-heartedly, reaching down to pull Mingyu’s hand away. They sit in silence for a while, Jihoon with his legs drawn up to his chest, Mingyu with his hands tucked underneath him like he’s stopping himself from reaching out and touching. Jihoon wouldn’t mind touching right now, in fact he’d probably appreciate it, but not, it can’t be Mingyu, with Mingyu Jihoon’s bound to fuck up. 

“Do you know how glad I am that I have you, Jihoon-hyung?”

“After that entire spiel and you’re still here telling me that I’m some musical prodigy whose worth is tied to how good of a song I can compose for us?” Jihoon retorts.

Mingyu flicks Jihoon’s forehead unexpectedly. “Hyung, you’re not listening to me! I’m thankful you exist, end of story. If we didn’t live in this universe, if we were born somewhere else, in a different time, I’d still want to have met you.” 

“That’s more like it,” Jihoon says, relaxing a little. 

“Good. Come on, there’s some breakfast left. Well, more like lunch now.” Mingyu hums as he leads Jihoon by the hand toward the kitchen, setting out omuraiseu and kimchi on the table. He chugs back a glass of water and watches Jihoon eat with a small smile on his face. “Was it okay?” Mingyu asks, as if Jihoon hasn’t scraped up every last grain of rice. 

“Yeah, tasted alright I guess,” Jihoon says, shaking his head. 

“I made it, you know,” Mingyu says, puffing out his chest. 

“Obviously.” In Jihoon’s opinion, Mingyu doesn’t need to fish for compliments. His cooking is phenomenal, as is his ability to make crafts, design promotional pictures, style hair. Mingyu’s good with his hands, it translates to the bedroom too, but mostly Jihoon is just impressed by how handy and competent he is. 

“What were you planning on doing the rest of the day?” Mingyu asks taking the plate away from Jihoon’s grasp rather forcefully and standing to wash the dishes himself.

“I don’t know.” Jihoon doesn’t really know what to do with his free hands. “Go to practice? If everyone’s gone I guess I could write a song here or something. There’s a guitar, I’ve got manuscript paper lying around somewhere.” It’s a picture of domestic bliss, Mingyu standing at the sink, and maybe in one of those other universes Mingyu had mentioned, Jihoon could put his arms around Mingyu and hug him from behind. In this one, he pushes in his chair and opens the fridge to grab himself a bottle of soda. 

“Will you sing for me?” Mingyu asks, staring straight ahead of him and rinsing off soap suds without really paying attention. 

Friends sing for each other if they’re in a band together, right? “Sure. Let me grab the guitar.” 

He strums chords randomly, tinkering with a tune that’s been flitting in and out of his hazy sleep-less thoughts. It’s not a song that has words yet, so he mostly hums, and then pauses to scratch out some placeholder notes on paper, just in case he forgets. Since it’s not complete, he sings old ballads for Mingyu to listen to, forgetting the melody to ‘Doll’ and crooning out harmonies instead. 

It’s not the most comfortable nor is it particularly convenient, but Mingyu lies down with his head on Jihoon’s shins and stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t mind, it doesn’t look like, because his smile never fades, not even when Jihoon’s throat gets too scratchy to continue and he puts down the guitar. “Thanks!” Mingyu says brightly, and Jihoon lets him scoot up to rest against Jihoon’s thighs because he thinks it’ll be a bit more comfortable than leaning against bone. 

“For what?” Mingyu fed him. Jihoon sang to him. That was an exchange. 

“You pretend to be mean, hyung, but…” Mingyu turns his head to look up at Jihoon, grin wide and toothy. He laces their fingers together and his gaze falls down to their hands. “You’re really nice. You’ve always been really nice to me.”

Jihoon snorts. “I’m not a nice person, and I’m not just saying that. I know I’m not a nice person.” 

“If you say so.”

He extracts his hand from Mingyu’s, moves them to the top of Mingyu’s head and strokes downward, running his fingers through silky smooth hair and letting it slip and slide between his fingers. He rubs a few strands between forefinger and thumb, and then returns to gentle petting. It’s like the entire day comes from a different universe, and Jihoon wishes it would never end. 

Mingyu’s pout turns into a satisfied smile, and he closes his eyes. “You know, I’m not really that useful in Seventeen.” 

Jihoon’s fingers stop patting Mingyu’s head and returns to hold Mingyu’s hand. “Don’t say that.” 

“I know my strengths and weaknesses! I can cook for us, I can advertise us, I can replace lightbulbs. But I’m not good at singing, I’m mediocre at dancing, and my rapping is worse than Channie’s and he’s not even in hip hop unit. My role’s supposed to be a visual, but every time we vote on that I don’t even make top five.”

The words ‘you’re handsome’ stay lodged in Jihoon’s throat.

“The thing is, the only ranking I have that’s higher than other members—” Jihoon knows where this is going and he tightens the grip he has around Mingyu’s hand in warning. “Let me finish! It’s height, except Jihoon-hyung doesn’t have that much height yet he’s the best person on the planet. Do you understand, hyung? I don’t have anything. I don’t have anything except you.” 

Jihoon doesn’t breathe. 

Mingyu untangles himself and sits up, getting flustered and embarrassed and showing it with the way he wrings his hands and covers his face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Jihoon tugs Mingyu back down until he’s sitting, and then kneels behind him. He digs his thumbs into Mingyu’s shoulder blades and kneads slow circles into his back, because he doesn’t have something to admit to Mingyu that’s safe. It’s not like Mingyu can’t read him like a book anyway, it’s not like Mingyu doesn’t already know all of Jihoon’s worst secrets. “Do you wanna make up for it by giving me a piggy back ride?” 

“Tch. What do you see me as? A giraffe? Your personal chef? A chauffeur for you to get from living room to bathroom?” Mingyu lets him hop onto his back anyway, hoisting Jihoon up so his legs hook over Mingyu’s hips. Jihoon clutches onto Mingyu’s shoulders without any fear. He’s scared of a lot of things, but he’s not scared of Mingyu. 

“None of the above, of course. I see you as a brat.” 

Jihoon can only see the back of Mingyu’s head, so he doesn’t see the frown on his face.

♯

♯

It’s still kind of weird with the others. Jihoon supposes that his outburst only reinforces the image they have of him as someone who’s scary and not to be messed with, but the cautiousness and tenterhooks is killing him.

Soonyoung to the rescue, as always, not because he’s a hero, but because he’s the type that wants to fix things and that probably makes him a hero anyway. 

“I’ll invite Junhui this time,” Soonyoung tells him with a snort, and Jihoon punches him in the arm, but Soonyoung _punches him back_ like a normal person, so that bodes well for the entire excursion.

Instead of some historical palace, Soonyoung shepherds them to a public bath house, which makes Jihoon wonder if Soonyoung’s lacking brain cells. They’re idols, they can’t be naked in public, even if there are rules about no cameras and they’ll be wearing tshirts and shorts, it’s the principle of the matter. The others don’t seem worried, and Jihoon’s done enough shouting for at least another two months, so he lets that slide. 

“It’s going to be filled with old sweaty men anyway,” Soonyoung says, noticing the expression on Jihoon’s face. “No one wants to look at each other, they’re all too self-conscious of the way they themselves look in the locker room. And like once you have a shirt on, no one cares.”

“I’m not self-conscious. I have abs,” Wonwoo says, like he’s reminding them of the eighth world wonder. 

Junhui elbows Wonwoo in the ribs. “Sorry, Jihoon, I was the one who suggested jjimjilbang. We can go somewhere else, it’s no problem.” 

Jihoon shrugs and leads the way past the front cash, over it, is the first to strip down, and covers his head in a double bun towel without fuss after that. For all his misgivings about being naked around others, there’s also something relaxing about scrubbing Wonwoo’s back while Junhui scrubs his and Soonyoung scrubs Junhui’s. 

“This is nice,” Wonwoo says. It’s weird because Jihoon can see the movement of his rib cage under his skin when he talks. What’s weirder is how pruney Jihoon’s fingertips become even though they’re mostly held outside the water. He pauses briefly to stare down at the pads of this thumbs, wrinkled and misshapen. 

“Of course you find it nice,” Soonyoung grumbles, “Because you’re getting your back cleaned but don’t have to do any work.”

“Do you want to swap?” Junhui asks, voice loudest because it’s right behind Jihoon’s ears. 

“No,” Jihoon says at the same time that Soonyoung gleefully yelps in agreement. 

Before Junhui’s even touched Soonyoung’s back, Jihoon turns around and splashes water into Soonyoung’s face, covering from head to toe, but mostly getting it into his eyes and mouth. 

Soonyoung chokes, splutters, and screams, all in the same breath, and they’re going to get yelled at by the people who work at the bath house but none of them care in that moment, too involved in a battle for water fight dominance. 

“I never did get my back cleaned,” Soonyoung sighs mournfully, water from his hair dripping down the back of his neck as they they slip into the provided sets of t-shirts and shorts.

“Dirty dirty jam jam,” Junhui singsongs.

“No. Absolutely not,” Jihoon says firmly. He makes a break toward the massage chairs, falling asleep while Soonyoung lies beside him with a face mask on, and Wonwoo curls up on the lounge floor, nodding off into his book. Junhui disappears into the kiln sauna, a book in his hand too, and wakes them all up after having purchased a huge assortment of food. 

“Junhui, our forever food provider,” Soonyoung says, collecting all of the baked eggs. He has this weird trick of peeling eggs into two neat halves, barely any cracked shell bits otherwise, and it’s not only a cool party trick, but highly useful. 

“Yeah, that’s right, I put food on the table, what do you do?” Junhui taunts. He’s shut up by Soonyoung shoving an egg between his lips, but soon all of them go quiet because Soonyoung doesn't feed just one person, he feeds them all. 

“These eggs remind me of Coco-ya,” Soonyoung starts, ready to dive into the tail of his pet chick for the thousandth time. Jihoon doesn’t need to be able to speak to kick him in the kneecap, nor to crow victoriously at the following yelp of pain. 

“This is really good,” Junhui interrupts, slurping down sikhye from a straw to wash down the egg. “Like, real good.” 

“These eggs still remind me of Coco-ya,” Soonyoung says after swallowing. 

“Well, you ate Coco-ya, so I guess that sucks for you, doesn’t it?” Jihoon grumbles, before smacking Junhui’s head. “Hey, that’s mine! You have your own!” 

“Whoops.” Junhui grins sheepishly, looking up. “Sorry?”

“Your saliva is on my straw now,” Jihoon complains.

“Does that mean I can have the rest of it?” Junhui asks shamelessly. He pulls the bottle closer towards him when Jihoon snorts. 

“You did that on purpose,” Wonwoo accuses. “Give me some.” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes, ignoring the tug-of-war for his drink, and stands. He waddles toward the counter, careful not to have leg on leg contact because it’s hot inside, and obviously humid, and he hates the feeling of sweat or slick skin. The bowl of patbingsoo is huge, and perfect for sharing. He picks up four spoons and carries it back to their circle without any showmanship. 

“Are those spoons for us?” Soonyoung reaches for the plastic with trepidation, ready to retract his hand at any sign of rebuke.

“No Soonyoung, I’m in the habit of using four spoons to eat a single bowl, that’s the kind of person I am.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Wonwoo says solemnly. 

Junhui gives him a look full of judgement and disbelief. “Yeah, and you’re so full of shit.” 

“Ooooo,” Soonyoung contributes helpfully. 

“Okay but what I want to know is why you were grossed out by my saliva three seconds ago, but don’t mind sharing patbingsoo now,” Junhui says slowly, taking a bite with red bean. 

“If you don’t want it you don’t have to eat it,” Jihoon says darkly, pulling the tray away from Junhui.

“He’s pretending to be prickly so that we don’t find out he actually likes us,” Soonyoung whispers conspiratorially. Jihoon smacks him but doesn’t disagree.

The four of them, it’s nice like that, spending their day off together. It doesn’t make sense, because it means things have changed. That their group dynamics have shifted to the point that Jihoon doesn’t feel like friendship is Soonyoung and Wonwoo, but that it’s Soonyoung and Wonwoo and Junhui. He’s not sure he’s had more than three conversations with Junhui, so it gets under his skin, even though he was the one who thought Junhui should join them in the first place. 

When Wonwoo slings an arm around his shoulder after they leave, and Soonyoung comments that it was fun, Jihoon quickly rebuts, “No that was stupid, let’s never do it again.” 

He doesn’t think it was stupid, not really. He did enjoy himself. But he wishes he hadn’t. It makes him more spiteful about the fact that this was better than the trip they had with only three of them, like the universe is forcing changes down his throat when he just wants things to go back to the way they were. 

Jihoon wants to say he hated it. But that would be a lie. And Jihoon can honestly say he hates that it’s not the truth.

♯

♯

“Let’s fuck.” Jihoon’s worked up about the fact that things are changing, and the tension spikes his cortisol levels. Fighting, fleeing, feeding, or fucking, he’s only got one option out of those four and it’s certainly not stress eating.

Trophies, records, number ones, he’d trade any of that for getting back the relationships he used to have. Setting things right. The way they used to be. Is it because he started fucking Mingyu? Was fucking Mingyu like turning a snowball into an avalanche? Is that what this is? An avalanche? 

One tiny smile, a fleeting glance, a few shared words, one blowjob, and he’s brought all the snow on the mountain on top of them, mostly on top of himself. They weren’t all that innocuous, he supposes. There’s probably a rule book for idols out there with the first one, bolded, underlined, and in all capitals, instructing the reader not to suck off your labelmate in the bathroom of your practice room basement, especially if you’re slated for the same group and both the same gender. Mingyu can’t have seen the book, he’s good at following the rules. Jihoon probably has a copy of that book somewhere, hidden as far away from Mingyu as possible. He needs Mingyu to leave, but he can’t let Mingyu go, Lee Jihoon, haven’t you fucked up enough? 

“Okay,” Mingyu agrees readily, but he’s taken aback because Jihoon’s never this forceful about it, and never so blunt. “I’ll meet you in the recording studio?”

Mingyu doesn’t ask for a soft mattress or rose petals strewn over the sheets. He doesn’t ask for comforts he deserves, maybe because he doesn’t know what to ask for. His faith has always been unwavering in Jihoon, his entire body and soul willing and pliant in Jihoon’s hands. So he takes the couch cushions and being fucked in cramped spaces, rarely getting a bed to themselves except when they’re on tour and can room together in hotels. Even then Mingyu takes it as a luxury, like he doesn’t need to be treated well, like he’s somehow expendable.

That too, Jihoon is sure, was manipulated into Mingyu by Jihoon having the disposition of a piece of shit. 

Jihoon’s taught him alright. He’s just not taught him anything good.

“Here,” Mingyu says, flipping up a condom. Jihoon catches it without much crinkling the metallic wrapping and tosses it to the side. 

“Are you fucking someone else?” 

“No,” Mingyu returns slowly, like the question is offensive.

“I’m not either, and I’m clean. Wanna try without a condom?” 

“Alright.” Jihoon was the one adamant about protection all the time, and Mingyu only really knew what Jihoon had instructed him. 

Mingyu bends and literally drops trou and Jihoon isn’t sure what he’s ever done to deserve this, considering his life feels like a series of progressively worse fuck ups. He cups one hand around the curve of Mingyu’s ass, and watches Mingyu’s fingers, slick with lube, pressing into his own ass and prepping himself for Jihoon. 

“Mm.” Jihoon pats his ass, helps Mingyu spread his cheeks. “Nice.” 

“Yeah?” Mingyu asks, voice breathy and beautiful, “You like watching me, hyung?” 

“Maybe. Be thorough. You can multitask right? Touch yourself,” Jihoon instructs. He’s impatient and has a hand around his own cock, strokes surely and slowly while Mingyu fingers himself. 

“Hyung,” Mingyu chokes out, and Jihoon reaches out his other hand to grasp tightly around the base of Mingyu’s cock. 

“Don’t come yet, don’t come until I say you can.” 

Mingyu nods and bites his lip, all the muscles in his body taut and straining so he can remain composed. He falls forward into his hands after Jihoon positions himself behind him, supporting his weight on all fours. 

It’s different, somehow rougher even though Jihoon uses a lot of lube, there’s edges to catch, or something. He doesn’t give Mingyu much adjustment period, it’s not like Mingyu has a virgin asshole, they’ve fucked recently anyway. Jihoon thrusts into him harshly, imprecise angles and an almost too quick pace. He’s not focused on getting either of them off right now, and he doesn’t exactly want to end things quickly. He wants to spend the time exhausting himself physically and mentally. The feeling of reaching the edge builds slowly, and it’s somehow faster in Mingyu, who reaches down with one hand to wrap around his dick and use the friction, but Jihoon slaps his hand away and forms the ring with his fingers again.

“Please, hyung,” Mingyu says, but it comes out a whine. 

“Not yet. I told you, not until I say so.” Jihoon thinks about the fact that his dick is inside Mingyu, that the keening noises Mingyu is making are because of him, about the fact this won’t really help Mingyu catch a girl unless she’s really into pegging, that—holy fucking shit, he’s in love with Mingyu. He comes in him, thinking that thought, until it drips out of Mingyu’s ass, and Mingyu is begging him, literally _begging_ him for release. “Come for me, Mingoo-ya,” he whispers hollowly, runs his fingers lightly up the length of his cock, and watches Mingyu’s face as he goes over the edge, his own expression vacant and soul empty. 

Mingyu’s eyes are squeezed shut, mouth parted and when he opens his eyes again he looks close to tears. That tugs at Jihoon’s misplaced heart. He leans forward and presses soft chaste kisses to his cheeks, and Mingyu is able to do little more than pant against Jihoon’s jaw, too spent to react. Jihoon stares down at Mingyu’s face, he looks and he looks because Mingyu’s done all that looking and he doesn’t seem to see the dark shit inside Jihoon. Jihoon can’t get further than Mingyu’s exterior, because Mingyu looks handsome, and he looks too old and too wise to be in Jihoon’s bed.

Jihoon, who was was taking fucking up to a whole new level. There were fuck ups, and then there were _fuck ups_ and then there was Lee Jihoon, the bastard who gets in too deep and drags the people he likes down with him, life if he gets the fucking up residue on them, they’ll be stuck in the depths of the inferno with him and won’t realize they should leave him. The worst part is that Jihoon knows exactly what he’s doing, plucking out the feathers of Mingyu’s wings until he won’t be accepted to his rightful place in heaven, until he thinks a place beside Jihoon in hell is something worth writing home about.

There’s something even worse than that. Jihoon isn’t fucking up because he’s a fuck up. Jihoon’s doing this because he has _feelings_ , because he likes Mingyu, maybe enough to write to his parents in Busan telling them, hey, it’s your son, and he’s never going to give you grandkids because he’s only ever liked boys, and also there’s one boy in particular. Jihoon thinks his mom would like Mingyu, he’s good at cooking and household chores, and he hopes his dad would too because God knows Jihoon likes him, Jihoon really really fucking likes Kim Mingyu. 

Too bad he’s going to get married to a pretty noona and when he realizes that Jihoon’s not teaching him but ruining him, Mingyu really really fucking _won’t_ like Jihoon.

♯

♯

He leaves Mingyu to clean up after himself in the recording studio, goes for a long walk by himself, up and down dark streets. Sex keeps making him more jittery instead of less and he hates it, that was supposed to be the one good thing he could have, but even that flame has flickered out, like every other fire he ever had. The powerwalking doesn’t get rid of enough nervous energy but it makes his racing heart less confusing and it’s better than lying awake in bed for the hundredth hour in a row.

When he’s circled the neighbourhood a dozen times, he finally stops, and presses one hand over his sternum. His heart races and his breathing is ragged, taking rapid shallow breaths as if someone really has hooked up a caffeine drip straight into his bloodstream, pumping stimulants into him. If it were two years ago, Jihoon would rip off his face mask and suck air in as far as they would fill his lungs, but of course it’s not two years ago, everything’s changed.

Yejin, at the very least, hasn’t changed. She looks different, she looks different every time he sees her, eternally ever more beautiful, but her bubbly laughter and perpetual smile doesn’t change, the way her eyes curve into half moons doesn’t change, and the way she teases him after he gets flustered over whether or not he should be paying for her coffee doesn’t change. 

“You’re what, twelve, and a rookie. My last album did okay, you know, I can definitely pay for myself,” she reassures him, nudging him with her shoulder. 

“There’s like, societal conventions, or whatever,” Jihoon mumbles, drowning himself with milk foam from his latte and conveniently hiding his sulk while he’s at it. 

“When did we turn into people who paid attention to those? Besides, that’s such a dated perception of women, Jihoonie, it’s not like we’re weaker, and it’s not like being weaker or smaller makes someone less valuable intrinsically.” She pushes the plate with her pastry on it forward, not having touched a crumb. “Here, eat this.” 

“You’re not eating?”

“You look like you kinda need the sugar,” she says bluntly. Jihoon’s pretty sure the last thing he needs is sugar, but he accepts anyway. “See, I swear it’s like you’re young enough to be my child, I feel so old.” 

“You’re not old!” Jihoon protests, “And with age comes experience.”

Yejin nods. “And at the end of the day, _none_ of that determines an individual’s worth.” 

Jihoon looks up and scowls at the way she smiles at him, it’s motherly, knowing, but not unkind. If she had been smugger about it, Jihoon could feel justified in disliking that look, but it’s genuine and he simply squirms. She takes pity on him, and stops looking at him to take a sip of her drink, fingers decorated with rings and nails painted with intricate patterns. Mingyu would probably be great at designing manicures. Jihoon frowns.

“What’s up, Jihoon-ah. I’m not saying it’s not good to see you, but normally I have to coax you out or we meet because of work…For you to ask for coffee? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” 

“There’s nothing wrong!” Jihoon snaps. His grip around his paper cup tightens, sloshing hot liquid over the edge and onto the table. He forces himself to release his hand and lunges for a stack of napkins. “Shit. Sorry, noona.” 

“It’s okay, it was an accident, there’s no need to apologize,” Yejin says, patting dry the patch closest to her. 

“No, I mean, for yelling.” He winces and stares at the balled up tissues sitting on the desk, soaked in coffee. What a mess. Add it to the long list of shit he’s responsible for.

This time it’s Yejin’s turn to frown. She pats his hand, the cool metal of her rings pressing into his skin but not digging. “A little shouting isn’t going to make me scared of you, Jihoon.” She taps the pack of his hand with a single fingernail to get his attention and he meets her eyes again. Great. Now she doesn’t just look motherly, she looks worried. “Spill.”

Jihoon isn’t really sure what to say. He was hoping to see her, find that she was unchanged, feel glad about it, and then return to the dorms ready to face everyone else again. Seeing her now, however, he’s happy but he doesn’t think he’s found what he wanted to find. It doesn’t put his mind at ease to see that some things never change, it doesn’t make him less stressed nor does it help him figure out how to return to the past. He’s stuck in limbo, sort of, boxed in by the past on one side, the future on the other, and his fuck ups in between. The words he plays around with don’t make it past his lips, weighing heavily on his tongue and leaving him looking down while fiddling with the cardboard sleeve between his fingers.

“Ah.” Yejin crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. A grin spreads slowly across her face. “Jihoonie has changed.” 

His muscles tense, and his eyes widen, but he doesn’t lift his gaze. 

“That’s a good thing,” she says encouragingly. “Before, you would have told me nothing was wrong and placated me with lies. You’re thinking of telling me the truth now.” 

Oh. Jihoon’s life is a web of lies he tells himself and that he tells others, it’s hard to figure out what’s real and what’s pretense sometimes. “It’s…I don’t know where or how to start.” 

“That’s okay.” She shrugs. “You’re trying. Honestly, it would have been nice if we could have debuted closer in time, seen each other more often, so we could have grown as people and artists together. But like this, looking at you maybe once a year, I can see very discrete stages of development in you. Every time I see you, our Jihoonie’s become more of an adult.” 

“Does it…bother you?” The cardboard is shredded, a pile of papery brown strips in front of his coffee cup, a second mess over a single cup of coffee. Say what you want, but Jihoon is good at everything he does, including fucking up. “Does it bother you that I’m different?”

“Not at all!” Yejin leans forward again, resting her elbow on the table, and cupping the side of her face with her palm. “Change is a good thing! Change means you’re moving, not standing in one place. Even if you’re moving backwards, at least you’re not stagnant. What’s that law in physics again? Objects in motion stay in motion, but objects at rest stay at rest. If you’re changing, you at least have a shot at becoming a better version of yourself.” 

That sounds nice. Jihoon wouldn’t mind being better. “Thanks, Yejin-noona.” 

“Wow, even a thank you…This is amazing.” She laughs, bright and loud as always, and Jihoon admires the fact that she never hides her emotions. “I’m proud of you, really. Your bandmates are very lucky to have you.”

“Lucky?” Jihoon blinks. 

“Of course. And you’re lucky too. I’m jealous of you having twelve other friends to watch your back, play around with, stand shoulder to shoulder. I’m super lonely by myself, but you, you have the others.”

♯

♯

The route from the out-of-the-way café back to the dorms loops around the convenience store where Jihoon used to buy ice cream after school or after practice, if he had the money and the time. That was a period of change in his life too, before Pledis when he didn’t really have a life, and then Pledis, when he has even less of a life. That change, it wasn’t a bad one. He bites the corner of his thumbnail as he walks, the other hand swinging at his side, sleeve extended past his fingertips.

Jihoon is tired. He’s spent so long trying to swim against the tide of change that the thought of accepting the fact that things were different now is perilously enticing. In some respects, it seemed unlikely that things would ever go back to the way they once were anyway. 

Jihoon is tired of fucking up. He’s tried to calculate every relationship, every reaction and interaction, kept people in the exact locations he wanted them, close but not too close. But he can never account for the variable of human possibility, and his math has never been accurate. His snowball is an avalanche is an entire mountain of snow. Arrow keys on a keyboard can’t control it, but he can salvage this by standing at the acme. 

Jihoon is tired, but Junhui brings him snacks, and he was born in 1996, and it’s better with him than without him. Jihoon is tired, but Seungcheol wants to help him, if only Jihoon would let him. Jihoon is tired, but Mingyu is Mingyu. 

In the recording studio, Junhui and Wonwoo sit on either end of the couch, each wrapped around one of the arms with a book in their hands. Junhui has his legs spread out in front of him, Wonwoo his legs crossed, and neither of them look at Jihoon when he opens the door and blinks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks, not accusatorily. He’s perplexed because there’s no reason for either of them to be recording. 

“I like this couch,” Wonwoo answers, glancing up briefly, before returning to his spot in whatever novel he’s reading this time. Jihoon raises an eyebrow and turns to look at Junhui, who raises his hands up defensively. 

“He keeps asking me questions about China over KakaoTalk so I’m just reading here because it’s easier,” Junhui says.

Jihoon’s eyes narrow. “Wait. You have KakaoTalk? I mean obviously you do, you’re in the group chat.” His focus returns to Wonwoo, who turns the page and scans through without indication that he’s paying attention to the conversation around him. 

“You know we haven’t added him to our chat?” Jihoon badgers, toeing Wonwoo’s shin. 

Wonwoo closes his book with a sigh and slips off his glasses to clean them with the fabric of his shirt. “Yes, I know, but we’ve had that chat with Soonyoung for ages so we just let it be, also because we weren’t sure if you would be weirded out or something. Junhui said it wasn’t a big deal, and Soonyoung tells him most of the stuff we say anyway if it’s important. And if it’s not, then he doesn’t really need to see it anyway?” 

Junhui gives Wonwoo a long look out of the corner of his eye, and Wonwoo stares back unflinchingly. “It really is fine, it’s not like I mind.”

“I don’t understand why you’re all so stupid,” Jihoon says gruffly. He stalks over to his chair, throws himself down into it, and wiggles his ass until he manoeuvers the phone out of his pocket. ‘쥬니☆’ gets added to the group conversation with a few forceful taps of Jihoon’s fingers and then he drops his phone to his lap before rubbing his face with his hands. He’s so so so tired. 

The two bookworms return to their novels, Wonwoo’s elbows rested on his knees as he peers closely at the text, Junhui rests his head on one hand, and stretches out a leg across the couch cushions, long enough that his foot nearly touches Wonwoo’s thigh. 

“Hey you,” Jihoon says. He snaps his fingers twice before Wonwoo lifts his head from the sentence he’s reading, looking peeved at his reading being interrupted again. “Yeah, you. I have to talk to you about your best friend.” 

“Huh. Who, Soonyoung?” The light reflects off the lenses of Wonwoo’s glasses and Jihoon can’t tell if he’s being serious or extra stupid. 

“No, what the fuck, that’s _my_ best friend, you dipshit.” 

Junhui stretches out, hips sliding down the sofa so he can aggressively prod Wonwoo’s hips with the arches of his foot. “He’s talking about Mingyu.” He retracts his leg and closes his book, reaching his arms above his head and cracking the joints in his back.

“Oh. OH. Right, true.” Wonwoo smirks. “I just think everyone’s my best friend because I’m so kind, and funny, and such a great person.” He waggles his eyebrows, and then flinches and yelps when Junhui gives him a hearty kick to the knee as he walks past. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Jihoon asks. 

“Uh, well, it seems like this would be something private so I’ll leave you and dumb dumb alone?” Junhui’s face is that of a deer caught in headlights, with one hand on the door, he looks like he’s lost and it’s not quite right. 

Jihoon places a hand to his chin and rubs his jaw. “Just stay. I think…dumb dumb…needs you to be smart for him right now.” He was going to work on recruiting Junhui as a minion. Junhui was loud and weird but he was very nicely obedient, and sat without further instruction. That was an admirable trait.

“So…” Wonwoo says unnecessarily. If Jihoon had any thoughts about working into this slowly, it evaporates with the arrival of his ire Wonwoo’s impatience.

“I think I’m in love with Mingyu,” Jihoon says. It’s the first time he’s suggested anything of the sort out loud, and it feels weird to say it, like holding your mouth open for the doctor when they press a tongue depressor down and stare into your throat. Exposed and constrained at the same time. 

“Okay, and…?” Wonwoo prompts. 

And what. That was it. The big confession. Jihoon opens and closes his mouth. “You’re not surprised? Creeped out? Anything? Nothing?”

Wonwoo snorts and Junhui elbows him in the ribs, hard. Any attempts at retaliation are quelled by Junhui grabbing hold of Wonwoo’s wrists and nodding at Jihoon. “So um…you know Mingyu’s…kinda loud during your…private activities, right?” Wonwoo chooses this moment to bite down on Junhui’s forearm, and he gets smacked in the back of the head. “Stop it,” Junhui whispers angrily, “your friend is trying to have a serious conversation with you.” Jihoon will one day, after he’s fifty and buys himself a cane so he can whack people with it, buy Junhui a birthday card and remember to mail it out in time. Junhui deserves it.

“I didn’t know that,” Jihoon mutters. 

“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this in a nice way, but I think all of us have known that you two were in love with each other for a while? You both try so hard to hide it though so we’ve just been pretending that we don’t know so you can tell us yourselves.” 

Jihoon takes a moment to process all of that, unable to speak. He watches the weird mating dance-esque fight in front of him passively, brain short circuiting. 

What.

What.

What.

“We weren’t…we were just fucking!” Jihoon yells, a little too loudly. Junhui turns to look at him, blinking with eyes open wide, lips slightly parted. “I haven’t…he doesn’t know how I feel. He thinks it’s just sex. I have to tell him.”

Wonwoo bursts into laughter, and Junhui frowns before doing this nifty martial arts trick that flips Wonwoo onto his back. He lands with his back crashing into the hardwood floors, Junhui straddled over his hips. “I’m really sorry about how dumb he is,” Junhui says with a pained expression.

“It’s not your fault.” Jihoon waves his hand. “Do you think you can keep him quiet while I try to write Mingyu a song to break up with him?” 

Junhui’s frown deepens, but it’s not from him trying to slap away Wonwoo’s wandering fingers. “Um, Jihoon, your music is nice, but I don’t know if it’s the right medium for this. Maybe you should just talk to him and tell him what you told us.”

Wonwoo finally drops his head and relents, giving up on fighting Junhui. “The thing with talking is that it’s a conversation, and you can say things, but Mingyu can also tell you things back, you know?” 

“Jihoonie is very good at talking, you’re very well-spoken, but sometimes you need to spend more time listening,” Junhui finishes. 

Jihoon could smack him. It wouldn’t be difficult to scoot his chair forward and deck Junhui in the back of the head. But he thinks about the fact that Junhui’s been defending Jihoon’s honour versus Wonwoo and just sighs instead.

♯

♯

This is the last run of the snowball. After this, Jihoon is packing up his things and permanently moving to somewhere hot and sunny all the time, preferably a place with beaches but also giant palm trees for shade but he can’t really stand the heat. After this, Jihoon’s never leading the snow accumulate on his watch again, he’s not going to fuck up if he can help it, and he’s not going to let anyone else fuck up either.

Jihoon puts in effort, because that’s what good, wholesome, not-fucked-up people do. He gets a mattress, an empty dorm, and one shot because his heart and lungs aren’t going to take him messing up on this one. 

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says, after Mingyu closes the door and sits on the bed. Jihoon stands in front of him and pulls Mingyu towards his chest, presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“What are you apologizing for?” Mingyu asks. He sounds scared. Or it’s because his voice is muffled into Jihoon’s collarbone and Jihoon’s simply projecting. 

“I’m not a very considerate person,” Jihoon tells him, “and I keep ordering you to do things.” 

Mingyu’s voice is quiet, and the hands he places at the small of Jihoon’s back are gentle. “I like it when you tell me to do things, hyung. But you’re not making any sense.” He presses his lips to the dip created between Jihoon’s neck and collarbones, and it’s extraordinarily soft. Jihoon shivers. 

“Don’t let people walk all over you.”

“I don’t. And if I listen to you, is that letting you walk over me?” Mingyu points out shrewdly. “I’m not a child, hyung, I can defend myself, and I can take care of myself.” Jihoon knows. Mingyu is a grown man and there’s something fiercely attractive about how well he can look after himself, so much so that Jihoon wants to press his hands all over Mingyu just to touch and be close. That’s the problem, isn’t it, Mingyu can take care of himself and he doesn’t need Jihoon to stand in the way between Mingyu and Mingyu’s storybook happy ending.

He doesn’t say a word, but shifts until they’re staring into each other’s eyes, and Jihoon holds Mingyu by the chin so he can plant a firm kiss to his mouth. They’re normally in too much of a rush, but today Jihoon removes every article of clothing, until they’re sitting, bare chest to bare chest, Jihoon on Mingyu’s lap, every shirt and sock carefully folded and placed in neat piles at the foot of the bed. He closes his eyes and kisses Mingyu again, memorizes the planes of his jaw, the slickness of his tongue. 

“I like the way you kiss,” Jihoon whispers, and Mingyu closes his eyes reverently, like a prayer has been answered. 

He kisses down the length of his torso, and when his chin reaches Mingyu’s bellybutton, Jihoon looks up and calmly tells him, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Wha—Are you sure?” Mingyu asks, eyes mild and fingers curled tightly around Jihoon’s wrists. 

Jihoon nods. “Think you can handle it?”

It’s not the first time they’ve had sex like this, but it’s not something they do very often because Jihoon is a control freak, and because he’s kind of fucked in the head when it comes to things like this, too concerned about the way other people will perceive them, even though it’s only him and Mingyu in the bedroom and Mingyu would never. Jihoon’s never really paid attention to the way the rest of him responds to touching Mingyu or being touched by Mingyu, always so focused on how quickly they can finish, but Mingyu is either an attentive learner or has been taking remedial lessons because he’s careful and gentle and sweet. He distracts Jihoon from the addition of fingers up his ass by kissing him thoroughly, and then makes Jihoon focus on Mingyu’s hand around Jihoon’s cock when he enters him. He goes slowly, shallowly at first, watches for changes in Jihoon’s face to figure out an angle the works, and builds at exactly the rhythm Jihoon wants. Mingyu does all the work, but Jihoon’s the one who feels exhausted, emotionally, wrecked by the way Mingyu handles him.

“You’re so good,” Jihoon chants, “you’re doing so good.”

“Really?” Mingyu wonders, and he gets a look on his face again that makes Jihoon scared he’s going to cry. 

Jihoon nods vigorously. “So good. You always do amazing. So impressive, Mingoo-ya.” 

“I just want to be good enough for you, hyung,” Mingyu whispers, neck craning and hips straining with the effort. 

“You are.” Jihoon leans forward and tucks Mingyu’s hair behind his ear, sweeps his thumb along Mingyu’s jaw, and holds his face. “You are, you’re so good to me.” 

After, Jihoon is normally the one who leaves quickly, but today he falls back in bed, and lies there, unmoving. Mingyu curls up into his side after carefully wiping off come from Jihoon’s belly with a wad of tissues. He buries his face in Jihoon’s shoulder and wiggles, both arms wrapped around one of Jihoon’s, one leg hooked over Jihoon’s hips. 

Jihoon’s heart hammers. 

“Mingoo-ya.” 

“Mmm?”

“I’m in love with you.” 

Mingyu stops moving beside him, and the stillness is eerie. 

Jihoon turns his head to the other side. “I think it’s better if we stop now, because I’m in love with you and I know you just wanted this to be a learning experience before you marry a pretty girl three years older than you. And it’s fine, I knew that, but maybe now’s the time to find her because I’ve taught you everything I can.” 

There’s still no movement from Mingyu, so Jihoon pulls his arm away, ready to get up and leave for good this time, but Mingyu’s arms splay out and wrap around him, pulling Jihoon back towards him. “Hyung, do you really mean that?” His eyes are so wide and so round and so beautiful, and his mouth looks so sad, and Jihoon isn’t an unhappy person, but maybe that’s because he’s always had this little bit of happiness in his life, the time he got to spend with Mingyu. 

“Yeah.”

“ _Hyung_.” Mingyu’s eyes well up with tears for real, and he crashes their mouths together, once, twice, three times. “Hyung, don’t you know, I’ve been in love with you for ages, and ages, and ages, and I only wanted you to see me as a man, not a boy, I only wanted you to see me as an equal to you, hyung.” 

“You don’t,” Jihoon says quickly, “you don’t need me, and you only think that because I’ve made it seem like I’m your only option, but I’m not. I’m not, Mingyu, I’ve fucked up a lot, and I’ve fucked up us, and I don’t want you to fuck up too. If it weren’t for me, you could have gone on a hundred dates with your Minji-noona and learned things the real way, the normal way. It’s not love, Mingyu, it’s dependence, and it’s a feeling I forced into you.” 

Mingyu pinches Jihoon’s thigh, and then holds himself so tightly, Jihoon wonders if he’s broken him. Mingyu laughs, throaty and hoarse, until he runs out of breath. “Hyung, there was no ‘Minji-noona’, I made her up, you didn’t force me, if anything, I tricked _you_.” 

He’s shell-shocked, to say the least. Jihoon tries to come up with something to say, anything at all, but fails once, twice, two thousand times, and he doesn’t know why he ever thought he was teaching Mingyu anything when Mingyu was giving him a masterclass. 

“I think I’ve always been attracted to you,” Mingyu says miserably, “from the very first time we met. And the more I saw of you, the worse it got. Can’t we just hold onto the feelings we have now, hyung?” 

“We’ll get caught,” Jihoon whispers. That’s his only rule. Don’t get caught. But that was broken already, if the others knew. “The other members, they already figured us out.” 

Mingyu shrugs. “They’ll keep our secret. They have our backs. Your bandmates are your friends.”

“Plus the person I’m in love with,” Jihoon adds automatically. He’s not sure if this is another snowball, or if he’s just been drowned by an avalanche, but Mingyu’s tongue curls around his own, and it frankly doesn’t fucking matter.

♯

♯

“Honestly, if I had known that what you really needed was just a boyfriend, I would have locked you two in a close together months ago, when we first found out.” Soonyoung slurps his fruity iced tea lemonade with no awareness of the people around him, makes increasingly loud noises as the liquid enters his body and all that remains in the clear plastic cup is ice and air. He chucks the straw out in a garbage can they pass, but keeps the rest so he can suck on the ice like it’s a food item instead of just frozen water.

Him, Jihoon, and Seungcheol had begged off for a leader line retreat, running off to gorge on street food and sugary drinks while the others were left to deal with the ongoing battle of who stole Seokmin’s boxers, and if it wasn’t Seungkwan, why did they end up on Seungkwan’s bed. Seokmin’s boxers were grey and kind of grandpa-y, Jihoon is rather grateful he doesn’t have to stare at them or at Seokmin’s face while they discuss where his pants have been in the past. 

“None of us are getting laid!” Soonyoung whines. He’s very good at drawing out his complaints for a long ass time. “Seriously, I can’t believe you were such an asshole just because you weren’t getting laid. What does that make the rest of us?” 

“Correction,” Seungcheol says, looping an arm around Soonyoung’s neck, “he actually was getting laid, he just didn’t think it was the lovey-dovey type of getting laid, which honestly makes this worse. This piece of shit was being a bastard while getting some, who the hell gets that entitled?” He kicks out at Jihoon, landing a jab into the back of Jihoon’s knee, and Jihoon’s leg buckles underneath him, so that he has to fumble for the next three steps.

Seungcheol stops in his tracks, choking Soonyoung in the process, and stares at Jihoon with a horrified expression on his face. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you!” 

“Are you kidding me?” Jihoon says, laughing in delight. Seungcheol hasn’t done something like that in months. He feels liberated, yanking Seungcheol down by the hair, and holding his neck in a headlock, while Seungcheol scratched at Jihoon’s arms for air. “This is the best day of my life.” 

“You’ve had a pretty miserable life then,” Seungcheol says with eyes watering. He pats Jihoon on the head, because he doesn’t learn, and Jihoon retaliates by biting him. 

Just like old times. 

Only this time, Mingyu spots them at the entryway and plucks Jihoon away from his best friends, dragging him back out the door he had just entered from. 

“What are you doing?” Jihoon screeches, voice echoing in the stairwell. He has to run to keep up with Mingyu, who takes the stairs down two at a time. “Let go of my arm!”

“Nope!”

“You listen to me, Kim Mingyu, stop dragging me right now!” 

“I don’t want to! And I don’t want to listen to you so,” he breaks off and turns around pulling along with him.

“If you don’t stop right now…” Jihoon threatens, one hand holding onto his hat so it doesn’t fly away. 

“You’ll what, withhold sex?” Mingyu calls back, laughing. He tugs on Jihoon’s wrist again. “Come on.” 

It’s not a terrible idea. Jihoon’s right is probably pretty lonely from years of being overlooked in favour of Mingyu in general. No, it’s a terrible idea, Jihoon wouldn’t last a week. He finds himself in front of the freezer of a convenience store, Mingyu’s fingers entwined with his even though they’re in public. Jihoon doesn’t pull away. 

“Hyung, buy me ice cream!” 

“Are you serious. Did you just pull me down the road so you could get a sugar fix,” Jihoon complains. 

“Mhm,” Mingyu agrees, withdrawing a fancy and expensive looking chocolate and strawberry ice cream cone. “I want this one.” 

Jihoon looks down at the options laid before him and selects a milk bar by a brand called ‘Snowball’. “I can’t believe you,” he sulks. But he pulls out his wallet to lay down the money.

“Do you really mind, hyung?” Mingyu asks, hand paused around the wrapper. 

“Yes. Obviously.” 

Mingyu’s face turns dejected and his movements slow around his ice cream. “Sorry.” 

Jihoon takes in Mingyu’s brown eyes and downturned lips. He looks at the ‘Snowball’ in his hands, and up at the cashier’s face. She’s smiling at them and holding out Jihoon’s change. He accepts it, and stuffs everything back into his pocket, before picking up ‘Snowball’. The packaging comes off easily, and he holds the wooden stick between thumb and forefinger with wariness before taking a tentative lick. The wrappers get tossed into a trash container, and Jihoon links his hand with Mingyu’s. 

“No, I changed my mind,” Jihoon says. “Not if it’s you.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can change yourself in an hour  
> but you know, if everyone did that, the world can change in an hour。


End file.
